While driving the back roads of Colorado, my wife and I stopped at a very tiny town by the name of Hartley to stretch our legs, use the bathroom and get something cold to drink at the only gas station within 40 miles. My first clue that we were truly in the boondocks was when I saw how much the station owner was charging for 87 octane....$3.13! He is real proud of his gasoline.
The station appeared to have been a two story home at one point in time and later converted into a small general store and gas station. Inside was the usual junk food and snacks normally seen in stores of this nature, but at the back was a fairly long line of women standing at the foot of a stair case. This is normally indicative of women waiting their turn to use the restroom and it just so happens the men's restroom was also at the top of the stairs next door to the women's. As luck would have it, I had drank approximately one liter bottle of water and my bladder was pulsating with every beat of my heart.
There were no men in line at the bottom of the stairs and I was in great anticipation of getting rid of a lot of fluid that was causing me great pain. When I tried to open the door, a deep voice on the other side said "Someone's in here." So back downstairs I go and began pacing around the racks of Cheetos's, Mr. Tom's Peanuts, Deer Jerky and doing everything in my power of not embarrassing myself by leaving a "wet trail" all over the store. After a couple of laps around the front of the beer cooler, this burly, bearded guy saunters down the steps and heads out the door. I immediately broke into a sprint that's normally observed during professional field and track events, and literally was clearing 4 steps at a time until reaching the bathroom door. Hang in there bladder...we're almost there!
Upon throwing open the restroom door, I was greeted with a cloud of stench that was so horrible it smelled like someone had gutted a possum with a road flare and I began to gag violently. I immediately opened the door and yelled, "Hey! Grizzly Adams! A courtesy flush would've be nice!" By now my bladder is on the verge of explosion and the gagging motions I had previously weren't helping matters either. I vaulted back into the restroom and began "taking care of business" and when I looked down to observe my progress of releasing my abdominal pain, I noticed an industrial size Baby Ruth turd floating in the toilet bowel! Oh sweet Mother Mary and Joseph! That in-bred sonsofbitches was never pottie trained as a child! Grizzly Adams not only left me with a present(???), but after flushing four times the damned thing still wouldn't go down. When I was in the Navy we used to call those kind "Chokers" because they were big enough to clog any toilet. Gag a buzzard off a gut wagon!
Once I finished my "business", I began going down the stairs and noticed another man standing at the bottom waiting his turn for the restroom. As I got close enough for him to hear me I said, "Be careful when you go in there, the guy before me took a dump that would bring King Kong to tears. I've worked around live stock a lot in my life and I've never seen an animal, four legged or two, that could crap like that." The owner of the store over heard what I had said and remarked, "You've now been formally been introduced to Harvey. He's a nice enough fella but not exactly the sharpest cheese on the cracker, if you get my meaning. Harvey lives out in the woods by himself and isn't exactly real fond of people. He comes into the store every 3-4 days for supplies and the first place he goes to is my bathroom. And after he leaves, I have to trek up stairs and unclog the damn toilet...he has a lot of fiber in his daily diet." Need I say that Harvey needs to brush up on his social and bathroom etiquette skills?
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